Content Data, Glitch
by fakescorpion
Summary: Or… The incident that caused the two top-tier Master Assassins to swap minds and somehow both became embarrassingly amateurish at assassination, or not? A humorous study on the many differences between Altaïr and Ezio and AC in general, with Desmond and Clay tagging along.
1. Weapon loss

_disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters._

_In which the Animus overloading resulted in a glitch that jumbled up the content data of Altaïr and Ezio, causing a frustrating difficulty spike in synching for both Desmond and Clay while they look for the all-important synch nexus._

_Or... How Desmond desperately tried to synch Altaïr with Ezio, while Clay attempted the same to Ezio with Altaïr. And both failed spectacularly._

_Or... The incident that caused the two top-tier Master Assassins to switch psyches__, and__ somehow both became embarrassingly amateurish at assassination, __to the grief of thei__r descendants (but mostly Desmond)__._

.

The thoughts of Ezio and Altaïr.  
(Which Desmond or Clay might or might not hear.)

"The normal speech of Altaïr and Ezio."  
"(Which Desmond or Clay could always hear, to Altaïr's and Ezio's dismay.)"

- The words of Desmond and Clay. -  
- (Which was broadcast to the current Room, but Altaïr and Ezio might or might not acknowledge.) -

.

.

* * *

.

**Content Data, Glitch**

.

**[****Memory Corridor**- Safe Mode] (Ezio. Desmond.)

The reconstructed content data of Ezio was the first to notice that something was off.  
Looking to the faraway light at the horizon of the dark blue loading ground, he felt a little unsettled, as he took a step forward. Soundlessly treading into the inky black...

And almost stumbled on his suddenly-a-little-too-long white robes.

The hell...?

Then he saw it.  
Those... those were definitely _not_ his greaves.

Standing very still now since he dared not upset the Animus system any more than necessary, Ezio tilted his head trying to catch the attention of the Observer. Clay? Or is it Desmond...? He thought hard, calling out in his head. I think there's a glitch in the system...!

No answer.

Can anyone hear me...?

Still no answer.

That's ju–

Data-lines split up the loading ground at this precise moment, more glitches, and the Master Assassin found himself in a dimly-lit and _very_ _unfamiliar_ underground construction site of some sort.

.

**[Jerusalem. 1191.]**

–ust great.

Ezio resisted the urge to sigh.

As a seasoned Assassin, the first thing he checked when confronted with the unknown was of course his weapons. Knives on back, waist, left boot, and right shoulder; long sword secured; single left hidden blade.  
Could work with these. Now, what's the objective?

Taking in the surroundings, Ezio noted two other Assassins in tasteless plain robes scouting around the back and... an unsuspecting old man not two feet from him, unfortunately blocking the available path forward.

"Wait." One of the fellow Assassins whispered. "There must be another way. This one need not die."

But an unidentified data source told Ezio to off the old man. So he ignored the opposing voice– Malik, the data provided– and moved in to strike.

Easy.

And with the proficiency of someone doing it for repeated lifetimes, Ezio activated the mechanics of his hidden blade and landed his first kill of this memory sequence.  
Tzing– Snap!

Uhh. That's weird. The Florentine Eagle was pretty sure that second sound wasn't supposed to happen. Pulling back the bloodied blade, he meant to inspect the cause of that strange sound...  
... when a thin piece of metal dropped to the ground with a soft Clank!

"Excellent kill!" The younger of the other two– Kadar, the data helpfully supplied, the brother of Malik– came over and offered a simple praise. "Fortune favors your blade."

But Ezio wasn't listening. He was looking at the broken piece of metal, baffled.

"You should not have drawn attention to us." Malik, though, disapproved with a small frown, the barest hint of impatience. "You should not have taken the life of an in–"  
Stopping mid-sentence, the elder Syrian Assassin also saw the broken thin metal, then he proceeded to grip Ezio on his left arm and turn it upwards.

The hidden blade was broken.

There followed an awkward silence.  
And the world metaphorically shook and flicker in warning, losing synch fast.

"... The blade is very delicate, Altaïr, you should know better than to attempt a strike on the vertebrae at this angle." There was a small quirk at the corner of Malik's lips, like he wanted to laugh but was trying very hard to act professional. "The mishap of a novice."

Ezio could feel a heated blush all the way to his ears.

Before everything collapsed.

.

**[********Memory Corridor**- Safe Mode]

And he found himself once again standing on the black and gloomy blue loading ground.

- This never happened before. -

Desmond? Ezio mentally called, for he had no voice here in the void, straightening his way-too-long white robe and making sure all his weapons were again intact. Can you hear me?

- Yes, I can hear you. Barely though. - The voice of his youngest descendant answered, loud and clear. - I think this is the first time we managed to desynch within the first five minutes. Is something wrong, Altaïr? -

Something is definitely wrong. Ezio deadpanned.

- Uhh... Is it just me, or do you sound a little different? -

Desmond. The Florentine Eagle almost couldn't believe the modern Assassin was this slow. I'm Ezio.

A looong pause.

- What. The. Fuck? -

.

_Note_

In high-profile assassination:  
Ezio breaks the cerebral vertebrae, leading to an instant and almost painless death.  
Altaïr cuts through the trachea and jugular vein, the victim would die of suffocation or blood loss. Much more painful, due to the slight delay in death time.

The hidden blades of the 12th century were extremely brittle compare to those of the 15th century.  
Thus when Ezio used his usual method of killing, it would cause the blade to snap.

.

.

**[********Memory Corridor**- Safe Mode] (Altaïr. Clay.)

Altaïr noted the glitch in the system before his content data were fully uploaded, but he paid it no heed.  
Small glitches appear at random intervals often enough and most were self-correcting within seconds to minutes. And even if something more serious were to happen, the Animus would just restart itself before repeating the procedure.

But then data-lines split open the monochromatic loading ground, with no signs of any revising commands being carried out, a small frown graced Altaïr's features.

.

**[Florentine Republic. 1476.]**

He found himself in a clustered room and, now with a suitable background for proper comparison, Altaïr realized he was right about the glitch and that he was in fact taller than he remembered. By a little over two inches it seemed.  
Storing that bit of information into the back of his mind, he looked around.

There was an opened chest just off to the side, and Altaïr crouched down to retrieve the documents– objective: deliver it to Uberto Alberti, the database whispered– and a hidden blade, which disappointedly was in no condition to use.

Just have to make do with the long sword, then. Altaïr thought nonchalantly as he left the building, mind set on completing the current mission as soon as possible.  
Somehow, he wasn't the least surprised when two guards flanked him the moment he step out the door.

Not in the mood to waste time, Altaïr whipped out his sword and– Riiip!

Huh?

A long tear sliced through the superfluous black side-cape, also cutting open his loose sleeve in the process.  
And the night flickered, an admonishment of low synch.

A deepened frown the only indication that Altaïr discerned the warning, he parried the first attack with ease, turning half a circle to side-step the second, and...

He heard a small crack.  
And it didn't sound assuring.

Better finish them off quick. Decided, the Masyaf Eagle swung the long sword at the closer guard's exposed neck before his attention already focusing on the next target– CLANK! Rang the sound of metal meeting metal.  
And Altaïr snapped around, shocked. I... missed?

He _did_.

His blade only grazed the guard's hairline and knocked off the weird-looking hat, but missed the intended mark entirely. Thus relenting the essential seconds for the target to defend.

A little frustrated at himself, Altaïr applied a different method of assault...  
... only to miss again.

But thankfully this time, he missed the torso but pierced the neck.

Two mere city guards were taking an embarrassing amount of time. And Altaïr opt to clave the last bothersome man on the neck.

The sword was buried into the skull instead, though, but the effect was just as good.  
Until the Masyaf Eagle tried to retrieve the weapon that was, because he then realized the sword was completely stuck.

This. Is. NOT. Happening.

Only it was.

And right on cue, the losing of the blade caused the second and more violent flicker on the background. Desynching warning.

Having maybe two or three seconds to amend his mistake, the Assassin practically launched himself at the nearest fallen sword... but a sharp pain shot up his left ankle, causing his step to falter and he fell. Precious seconds lost.  
Then the world fragmented into shards, leaving Altaïr with half an instant to curse in fluent Italian before the system muted his cord.

.

**[********Memory Corridor**- Safe Mode]

- Let me guess, you're not Ezio. -

No, I am not; I am Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad_._ The wounded Eagle hissed in his head, crawling up from his fallen position now that his sprained ankle had healed, and tried to salvage some dignity. And you are not Desmond.

- I'm Clay, Clay Kaczmarek. - The unknown Observer immediately answered. - Nice to meet you, Altaïr._ -_

Save your pleasantries. Fix this.

- Not the talking type, apparently. - Clay said, tone a little flighty. - It wasn't supposed to load your data anyway. I'll restart the program. -

Altaïr indifferently watched his fingers disintegrate.  
Then realized his conscious was still intact after being digitally rebuilt.

It is not working.

No answer.

It is not working.

No answer.

It is not working, Clay.

- I can barely hear you. Voice all jumbled up. - Finally a reply. - Are you Ezio now? -

No, I am still Altaïr_. _It did not work.

- Hmm, okay. Strange. Wait a moment, I'm contacting Desmond. -

Altaïr scowled.

.

_Note_

Altaïr adapts a lot of swirls and turns during combo attacks, mainly to lend power to his hits. It is also a sign of having great flexibility.  
However, the result is he often turns his back to the enemy. And it was only due to the combination of extended knowledge of the human anatomy, precise proprioception, and extreme self-awareness that he can land lethal hits even without actually facing his target.

Courtesy of the taller Ezio, the two inches of unwanted extra height will unfortunately cause Altaïr to constantly miss the desired mark by two inches. Because his movements are often overly reliant on innate muscle memory.  
Also, Ezio's physicality didn't have the required gymnastic softness Altaïr needed to perform many of his counters, so he would of course be in danger of hurting himself if he tried.

.

.

**[Black Room] (Desmond. Clay.)**

- Clay! Are you here? -

- Yes, Desmond. No need to yell. I can hear you fine. -

- I think there's something wrong with the system... -

- You can't load Altaïr? -

- Huh? How did you know? -

- Because when I loaded Ezio's data, I ended up with Altaïr's. I've even tried to restart the program. -

- Why didn't I think of that! -

- It won't work. -

A pause.

- Clay. We're still on the timer to find the synch nexus? -

- That's right. Before the Animus try to delete us. And we're not anywhere close to solving the current problem. -

- That's unfortunate. -

Another pause.

- Screw it, I'm trying again. -

- Wish you luck, too, Desmond. -

.

.

.

* * *

_Takes place in AC:R. But will feature random memory sequences from AC1, AC2, AC:B, and AC:R._

___The same font for The Thoughts and The Text are used, intentionally, to create a similar illusion of why they are sometimes difficult for Desmond and Clay to decipher._

_Despite what the summary may imply, neither Ezio nor Altaïr would magically lose their assassination skills.  
This story is a humorous attempt at exploring the many differences between these two characters. And I will try my best to keep everyone IC._


	2. Center

_disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters._

.

The thoughts of Ezio and Altaïr.  
(Which Desmond or Clay might or might not hear.)

"The normal speech of Altaïr and Ezio."  
"(Which Desmond or Clay could always hear, to Altaïr's and Ezio's dismay.)"

- The words of Desmond and Clay. -  
- (Which was broadcast, but Altaïr and Ezio might or might not acknowledge.) -

.

.

* * *

.

**Content Data, Glitch**

.

**[********Memory Corridor**- Safe Mode] (Ezio. Desmond.)

The digital pixels rearranged.

Stop.

The model crumbled, and then revised. For the umpteenth time.

Stop it, Desmond.

Greatly irate, Ezio felt, as his arms and legs came together anew before repeating the process of breaking apart. The Observer was clearly being foolish, trying to load an archive that was apparently unavailable. And the Eagle Assassin puffed up his imaginary feathers, displeased, when he felt the option of **Restart** was selected again.

I'm chucking a knife at you if you do it again. Ezio lowly growled throwing blade already in hand, though he knew ultimately it was an empty threat. Being a collection of data had one too many disadvantages.

- But I really need Altaïr's data! - Desmond almost whined, at least that was what he sounded like to the Italian. And he was impatiently scrolling the menu now, changing the settings randomly in hopes of triggering a different effect by accident or luck. - No offense, Ezio, but I need to synch his memory first. And time's running out. -

Why don't you let me try? Ezio offered, not looking at anywhere in particular.

- And we messed it up within the first five minutes. - Desmond reminded him. - You are compiled data, I don't think you can change the way you act so easily. -

Load a different memory sequence then, maybe I could duplicate the needed material after prolong exposure.

- I'm not so sure... -

Hey, you're the one who's running out of time, kiddo. Ezio pointed out, as Desmond contemplate his very limited options.

- Why do I get the feeling you actually _want_ to do this? -

Repeating the same life over and over gets dull eventually. Ezio shrugged, and then broke into a devilish grin. And I get the chance to be Altaïr! The _legendary_ Altaïr! He's got a monument dedicated to him under Monteriggioni!

And Desmond wanted to facepalm, only he didn't possess the needed physical form at the moment.

.

**[Masyaf. 1191.]**

A different sequence was loaded.  
And Ezio found himself standing at the foot of a sturdy plank, extended proudly from a tall tower on the side of the Masyaf castle, overlooking the grounds. There a huge troop of heavily armed men gathered, visible from his current vantage point.

Ezio remembered this place as he looked to the left where he knew before seeing, that there were two more extended wooden slabs. He had been there on that next plank almost three hundred years after this memory, and he had saw Altaïr's ghostly figure then, walking so gracefully down the lane.  
The Florentine Assassin had believed it was just an illusion conjured up by a tired mind at the time, a wistful thought of the phantom he had been chasing for decades.

Was it not the case?

Mentally shaking his head, it was definitely not the time for the mind to wander. And Ezio walked down the path, without looking back, then took the dive.

.

.

**[************Memory Corridor**- Safe Mode] (Altaïr. Clay.)

- Looks like we're in a limbo. -

Altaïr waited for Clay to elaborate, but the conversation stopped dead.  
Until impatience got the better of him and the Syrian finally asked: Well? in a very demanding tone.

- If I tried to fix this data glitch, I'm afraid the system would crash. -

Meaning?

- I'll have to synch Ezio's memory with your data instead. -

Ezio Auditore da Firenze...?

- Yup. Think you're up for it? - Clay asked, sounding a little too giddy for the Master Assassin's liking. - Tell you what, I'm importing the basic information on him into your database. Get to know him. Ezio is a pretty interesting guy. -

I am not doing this.

- Oh, come on. Altaïr. Time's running short here. -

Your time, not mine.

- Hey! Get that my time also happens to be Desmond's, or do you _want_ your great-great-whatever-grand kid to be deleted? -

Altaïr bristled.

- It's decided then! I'm loading an earlier sequence to let you familiarize with Ezio's physicality, you can thank me later. -

And the loading ground lighted and a foreign city started to reconstruct, before Altaïr had another chance to further voice his many objections.

.

**[Florentine Republic. 1476.]**

It was dusk. The city bathed in the sunset glow.  
His lips and forehead were bleeding, and he was feeling naked without his hood.

"You must help him, doctor!" A man standing just beside him was cheerfully saying while gestured with his hands– Federico; he was your brother, the database informed like murmurs in the wind. "That pretty face is his _only_ asset."

Altaïr tilted his head in amusement as the very-strangely-dressed doctor removed the gloved hand that was touching the side of his face. "Is that an attempt at humor, brother?" He asked, the Italian sounding strange in his ears.

Federico laughed. "You take things too seriously."

.

.

**[Masyaf. 1191.]**** (Ezio. Desmond.)**

Someone screamed in agony. "M... my legs...!

"Quiet. They might hear us." Rauf commanded in a low voice, though with a soothing note. And Ezio immediately liked the guy.

"Is he going to be alright?" The Florentine Assassin asked in Arabic, concern evident in his tone. Altaïr's voice was a lot softer than expected, a sound that he decided was quite pleasant to hear.

At the inquiry, both Rauf and the assassin apprentice turned to him with odd looks on their faces, the former more surprised while the latter more in pain. And Ezio tensed at that, wondering if he had said or did something wrong.

- That is SO out-of-character. - Desmond apparently was not being helpful at all. - I think you just lost 5% synch rate on that. -

Haha, Desmond. Very funny.

Right now though Rauf was uncertainly shaking his head. "I'll stay behind to tend to him; you'll have to go on ahead without us."

Ezio nodded, noticing the heavy ropes that stretched over the steep cliff leading to the other side straightway. Knowing what he had to do now, Ezio wasted no more time and made to sprint across the narrow path the same way he always did...

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**

And that was exactly what happened.

- Huh? What the...? -

**Reloading Memory File.**

And the white-robed Assassin found himself back on the side of the cliff.

- Ezio, what just happened? -

"I fell."

- You fell? -

"There's really no need to repeat it." Ezio grumbled lowly, frowning at the tightropes as they swayed slightly in the wind, feeling more confused than peeved.

- You never fell. -

"I know. But I just did."

Thinking it was just a minor mistake on his part, the Florentine Assassin tried again, sprinting across the tighten rope...  
... then his arms windmilled, losing balance.

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**

"What the hell!"

**Reloading Memory File.**

- You fe... -

"Don't." Ezio cut him off, feeling his face go red. "Don't even start."

- Okay, okay. - Desmond at least had the decency to not laugh. - Try again? -

Ezio sighed, might as well. He thought, carefully moving onto the tightrope. This time step by step in a deliberately slow manner.  
Halfway across, already a lot farther than the two previous attempts, a strong gust of wind slightly shook the rope. The next thing he knew, he was falling over again.

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**** Reloading Memory File.**

"_Cazzo_!" The Master Assassin couldn't help it.

- Ezio! Don't curse in Italian! - Desmond reprimanded. Not helping, not helping at all. - You just lost 45% synch rate for speaking in a language Altaïr didn't know. -

"Is there something wrong, Altaïr?" Hearing the foreign word, Rauf called out from the other side of the platform.

"No, don't worry!" Ezio quickly replied. "Everything's fine."

- You're acting very strange again; or rather, you're making Altaïr act very strangely again. - Desmond chipped in. And as if in agreement, Rauf gave the Florentine Eagle another odd look. "Go on then, don't keep the master waiting."

Ezio put up a strained smile and nodded, turning back to his objective of crossing the tightrope, inwardly though, he wanted to complain. But I didn't do anything!

- I think you should just don't talk to anyone. - Desmond said, very not supportive. - Because I see the synch rate go down every time you do. -

"Am I supposed to just ignore everybody then?" Ezio asked, now trying to outrun the wind. Why... why is it so difficult to keep balance all of a sudden?

Of course it didn't work.

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**** Reloading Memory File.**

Ezio wanted to shout in frustration when he found himself back on the original cliff.

- Ignoring people is actually more in line with that guy's personality. - Desmond hadn't stopped talking. - Or you can try to be a jerk. -

"You're distracting m–"

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**** Reloading Memory File.**

"God! How did Altaïr managed to get pass these stupid ropes?!"

- Synch rate dropped again, Ezio. - Desmond informed. - You used the wrong swear word. Altaïr was a Muslim at this point in his life. -

"Fuck you, too."

.

_Note_

Altaïr has a higher center of gravity. It helps him maintain momentum while sprinting, reduces the energy wasted, and allows a more fluid dynamic.  
Due to this reason however, Altaïr is actually very prone to loosing his balance, made obvious when Desmond (read: the players) accidentally ran him into people in AC1. To accommodate, he always bends his knees to lower his gravity center when crossing beams.

Ezio was not used to having such a body though. And when he tried sprinting across narrow walkways as he always did in the upright position, he was in fact precariously close to topping over. Give him a gust of wind, and he would be done.

.

.

**[Florentine Republic. 1476.] ****(Altaïr. Clay.)**

"There we are." The doctor said as he finished dressing the wounds. "Now get out of here!" He added good-naturally.

Altaïr nodded his thanks, already turning to leave.

"Hey, Ezio, this way." Federico laughingly called when he saw the younger man was about to wander off. "This is quite a night!"  
The Masyaf Assassin just blinked but didn't respond as he followed his brother cross the courtyard.

- You should say something, Altaïr. - Clay's voice suddenly rang clearly through the night. - The synch rate is slowly decreasing. Oh, and remember to SMILE! -

The Syrian ignored the voice.

"We should head home. Father's sure to be wondering where we've gone."

Father...

Altaïr said nothing.

"Is something wrong, Ezio?" Federico asked, now sounding a little worried. "You're awfully quiet today."

"It is nothing."

"You sure?" Federico asked, and then playfully punched Altaïr on the shoulder to cheer him up. The action instead caused the opposite though, but thankfully he didn't notice the involuntary tension of the younger man. "Up for a little race?"

"Back home?" Altaïr narrowed his eyes. Clay, you better have a good reason why the map to the Auditore Residence is not in my database right now.

Federico laughed again. He was really a merry person. "No, Ezio. Let's race to..." He looked around the courtyard, then pointed. "... the roof of that church."

- Okay, crabby. Objective: let us win this race. - Clay said, sounding bored.

"On the count of three." Federico called, and Altaïr walked to his brother's side by the low wall that marked the starting point. "Uno. Due. Tre!"

And they were off.  
With Altaïr very easily taking the lead.

Up the box.

Over the low wall.

Leap across the beams. One. Two. Thre–

An unpredicted slip. And Altaïr only had enough time to correct his posture before finding himself rolling on the ground and _very_ perplexed.

That is unexpected.

- Hello? We're racing the guy, Altaïr. - Clay reminded, now sounding not-so-bored.

"No shame in failure, brother!" Federico called back from over the rooftops.

The Masyaf Eagle went back to the start, a little offended. There is still time. He told himself, and started to climb.

Up the box.

Over the low wall.

Leap across the beams. One. Two– and fell.

What in Allah's name...?

- I think you just fell. Again. - The Observer snickered and Altaïr glowered. - Are you really the guy that Ezio basically hero-worshipped? -

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**

"If I could kill you, I would."

- Sure you would. - Was Clay's reply. - But it's a little too late for that, already being dead and things. -

**Reloading Memory File.**

"On the count of three." Federico was saying again. "Uno. Due. Tre!"

The second time.

Up the box.

Over the low wall.

Leap across the beams. One. Two–

That did _not_ just happen.

And Altaïr found himself on the ground the third time glaring at the beams that he, for some unfathomable reasons, seemed unable to cross.

- Earth to Altaïr. We're RACING!-

"Obviously."

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**

- And he's winning. Again, no less. And Altaïr, you know what's really funny? The guy isn't even an Assassin. - Clay ridiculed, not paying much attention to the fact that they were about to desynch yet again. - Then... he WON. -

**Reloading Memory File.**

"On the count of three, Ezio." Federico said, the slight change in dialogue made Altaïr feel he was being laughed at by his brother as well. "Uno. Due. Tre!"

The third time.

Up the box.

Over the low wall.

Leap across the beams. One. Two. Thre–

- Come ON! -

Now it was Altaïr's turn to be amused. "Not so absurd anymore, hmm?"

- You did that on purpose. -

"I did not."

- It's just some parallel beams, how hard can it get?! - Clay scoffed. - Even I can do it. Back when I was still alive. -

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**

"You can try uploading your data." Altaïr twitched his scarred lips.

- Yeah, sure. And be deleted by the Animus. No thanks. -

**Reloading Memory File.**

"Hey, Ezio, pay attention." Federico waved his hands in front of his distracted little brother, brown eyes way too jolly, and this time Altaïr was very positive he was being laughed at. "On the count of three. Ready? Uno. Due. Tre!"

Federico took off, climbing the box and then the low wall...  
... and Altaïr bent to pick up a small pebble from the ground, before slinging it at his brother with the accuracy of his throwing knives.

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**** Reloading Memory File.**

.

_Note_

Ezio has a lower center of gravity. It gives him greater balance during all movements.  
However, it takes more effort for him to maintain the sprinting pose and keeping up the speed.

Due to the event being a race, Altaïr tried to run faster than his current body's ability, relying too much on forward momentum while not putting enough effort on moving his legs. It would thus result in a loss of coordination, causing him to stumble during more difficult maneuvers, such as jumping between beams.

.

.

**[Masyaf. 1191.]**** (Ezio. Desmond.)**

- I could try asking Altaïr how he did it. - Desmond offered. - If Clay kept his data running. -

"The horror! I would be shamed for life!"

- Good thing you're not technically alive? -

Ezio chuckled at the joke, then his arms windmilled, losing balance again.  
But having finally made it to the second stretch of tightropes, he was dead set on _not_ falling off. So he twisted his wrist, fingers just very barely grabbed onto the swaying strings, and ended up awkwardly dangling above the gorge.

"You know what, Desmond?" Ezio suddenly changed the topic. "I don't think I care much about the synch rate."

- Uhh...? -

So Ezio started to shimmy down the rope, by his hands.  
And he felt so very proud of himself when he finally, _finally_, slashed through the supporting beams holding the logs in place and sent misfortune crashing into the Crusader troops.

.

**Memory**** Synchronization: 20%**

- That is an all time low! - Desmond moaned. - I don't even think it's _possible_ to get even lower than that. -

"Shut up, Desmond." Ezio said, cheerfully and in gentle Arabic, right before the sky started to flicker and the world began to crumble around him.

.

.

**[Florentine Republic. 1476.] ****(Altaïr. Clay.)**

- Not judging, truly not. But even you should see that this is exceedingly stupid. -

As the memory sequence reload, Clay was continually criticizing and being a general distraction in the background, and Altaïr was frustrated. Very, very frustrated.

- You're a Master Assassin. And you can't get across beams without wasting time on three attempts. -

"Cease your blabbering." Altaïr scowled, by this time, he would tune out Federico's almost repeated words and focus would go straight to the objective at hand. "You're supposed to be older than me at the moment, so stop acting like a child."

- I don't think you're even attempting to win at this point. - Clay kept on. - And you know what? Staring at the church is not going to get you magically transported there. You're supposed to go that way, to your left. -

This time though, the proud Masyaf Eagle decided to not only ignore the annoying voice but also totally disregard the given directive, and made his way straight to the destination.

If he could not win in a proper race, then he would _not_ attempt a proper race.

With that thought in mind, Altaïr began to scale the church wall and up the decorated window. It was much faster and so, _so_ much easier.

Clay's observation was: - You cheated, Altaïr. -

Then Federico's immediate echo: "You cheated, Ezio!" when he caught up.

And that only caused the younger man to lightly chuckle. "Everything is permitted, brother." He mused, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

It made the Italian laugh again. It seemed he could find everything amusing and his easygoing nature was very different from what Altaïr had used to, but, the Assassin decided, he rather enjoyed the company.

"Come on, then. This way." A small tilt of the head, and Federico was off again. Now climbing the taller tower just to the side.

And Altaïr gladly followed.  
Feeling the exhilarating night view of the foreign city a suitable reward, for him undergoing the most embarrassing evening in forever.

.

**Memory**** Synchronization: 85%**

- ... I cannot believe you still managed an 85% synch. -

Altaïr just chose to disregard the voice and admire the cityscape, before the beautiful exotic land fade.

.

.

_Note- Extra_

When the same amount of energy is applied:  
Tops that spin faster but with shorter lasting periods have higher gravity centers. These kinds tend to thrash very violently as they topple.  
Tops that do the opposite have lower gravity centers. And are in fact easier to control.

Of the five playable Assassins, it is likely that Haytham has the lowest center of gravity. With Desmond and Connor as close contenders for the second.  
It is quite obvious, however, that Altaïr has the highest. And he "won" the second highest– Ezio– by a large margin.

.

.

.

* * *

_The only reason Altaïr's synch rate was much higher than Ezio's was because if you scale the church in the actual AC2 game during the race, it would still give you 100% synch._

_______Both Altaïr and Ezio are compiled data modified from genetic memory files in this story, so cultural shock from their perspective will be minimum and mostly limited to inner monologues, and language barrier non-existent.  
Because there are already many other stories involving Magical Time Travels that focus on dealing with cultural shock on this site, and I am not interested in rewriting the same story. I apologize for those who want to see that in advance._

_Finally, if you were curious as to how I categorized each Assassins, or if you think some of my observations were wrong, please leave them in a review.  
__I will explain to the best of my ability for the former, and I will make adjustments for latter chapters if any character's status is in fact contradicting canon._


	3. System failure

_disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters._

___Warning... Mood-whiplash abound._

.

The thoughts of Ezio and Altaïr.  
(Which Desmond or Clay might or might not hear.)

"The normal speech of Altaïr and Ezio."  
"(Which Desmond or Clay could always hear, to Altaïr's and Ezio's dismay.)"

- The words of Desmond and Clay. -  
- (Which was broadcast, but Altaïr and Ezio might or might not acknowledge.) -

.

.

* * *

.

**Content Data, Glitch**

.

**[****Masyaf. 1191.****] (Ezio. Desmond.)**

- There's a Masyaf banner. -

"I saw it." Ezio's answer was brief and a bit harsh, prancing past the aforementioned Assassin Flag without taking a second glance. He rarely acted like this, he knew. But the Florentine Eagle had just been publicly humiliated; the whole Brotherhood hated him even after he played a big part in driving out the Crusader forces; and to add insult to injury, he was stripped of all ranks and weapons.

Right now, Ezio just wanted to get to the village market to finish the current objective of finding the traitor and leave this unfriendly town. Being resented by enemies was comical, being despised by allies? Not so much.

- Aren't you going to do anything about it? -

The white-robed Assassin stopped his indignant strides, a little impatient and feeling very vulnerable without anything sharp in his hands. "What?" Ezio asked under his breath, to avoid unwanted people listening in, as he backtracked to the white and red flag that was erected at the side of a small shack. "What am I suppose to do with it?"

- Push it down. - Desmond's advice was as puzzling as always. - Altaïr always does it. It gives you extra percentage of synch. -

"... Why?" Ezio questioned, very confused, but did as he was told and tipped over the flagpole. It toppled with a small Thud. "And then?"

- And that's done. - Desmond informed. - Your synch rate just went up 2%. -

"... I don't get it. At all."

- Neither do I. - Desmond sheepishly confessed, basically admitting he was a poor Observer. - I tried asking Altaïr about it before, but he tends to ignore me most of the time. And I never press him for answers because... -

"Shh!" Ezio very suddenly held up a hand. It was then did Desmond notice the oddly familiar rafiq and the black cloaked villager talking in hoarse whispers, so the modern Assassin wisely kept his mouth shut as the younger-older computerized intelligence listen in.

"Hmm, Masun and the basket weaver." Ezio thoughtfully ticked off, having learned what he needed.

- Now that is just uncanny. -

"What is?"

- How in hell did you know to get that information here? - Desmond asked with much incredulity. - I originally thought you and Altaïr only know exactly when to be where in your respective memory sequences was due to having lived them before. -

"Of course not. How could we relive memories if we could foretold what will happen next?" Ezio explained with a light laugh. "That's why a failsafe mechanism installed within the Animus system keeps renewing our accessible memory files, to prevent the failure of synching on the subconscious level. So it's kind of like a new experience for us every single time."

- That still didn't explain how you know to come here. -

"I don't. I've just been eavesdropping on everyone we went past."

- ... that is just uncanny. -

Ezio snickered, stealing a small orange as he walked pass the fruit stand. "I still need the locations of all the basket weavers in this town though. Altaïr might know where they are, but I sure don't."

- Okay, hold on. I'm uploading that information onto your database now. -

The Italian nodded.

What the Florentine Assassin did not share was...  
... If he could just _remember_ beforehand that his father and brothers would die that day at the Piazza della Signoria, he would not give a shit about synching.  
He knew he could not change the past. Because he was just a mass collection of data with a computerized sentience, and history was solid and unforgiving. But he would be lying to say he did not want to change a memory.

Of course Desmond could not really understand. And could only see the image of a young man who stole a piece of fruit from a merchant's booth with a smile that could only be genuine.

But that was fine.

.

.

**[Florentine Republic. 1476.] ****(Altaïr. Clay.)**

- If you don't start trying to act like Ezio, your hard-earned synch rate will go down the drain. - Clay couldn't help but spoke up as he watched Altaïr stalk the streets of Florence with the intensity of a panther after its prey. - Turn around, you're walking_ right pass_ a distressed-looking beautiful lady! Ezio would never do that! -

"I am on a mission."

- No, you're not. - The omnipotent voice corrected. - You're running errands for your family, there's a difference. Loose the strut and stop glaring at everyone like they owe you money. And go talk to the lady. -

Resisting the urge to sigh, Altaïr begrudgingly obliged. "What is it?" He demanded, and the woman shrank back at his obvious impatience and hostility.

- Real charming. - Clay would roll his eyes.

"Another unfaithful man." The Syrian inwardly shook his head as the woman spilled out her troubles in fright and– upon catching sight of some Vieri de' Pazzi's men off the corner of his eyes– bade her a terse farewell, before climbing up a worn down scaffolding nearby then took a daring leap to the derelict building next to it. Grabbing onto a protruding ledge without problem, he quickly disappeared onto the slanted roofs.

After sprinting a short way, Altaïr saw a raised structure.  
A hawk screeched, the temptation of freedom.  
And the Masyaf Assassin clambered to the very top in record time, because though this body might be too stiff and too heavy and causing problems most of the time, he still had to admit when it came to climbing, he really loved it.

Activating the Vision, the young Eagle soon spotted his prey...  
... And pounced!

The next moment, Clay was causing a racket at the top of his lungs. - What is _wrong_ with you? Altaïr, the NO KILLING innocent rule too hard for you to understand?! -

But per usual, Altaïr ignored the voice ringing in his ears and disposed the body into the cart full of rosy flower petals, focus already back to the task of delivering Father's packages.

- That just cut your synch rate by half. VERY amusing. -

.

.

**[****Masyaf. 1191.****] (Ezio. Desmond.)**

"That went surprisingly well."

- You were expecting things to go wrong? -

Ezio carefully secured the sack of rations onto a black stallion with white hoof markings before mounting the steed. "I would say I've been living as Altaïr for about a day now, and honestly? I have renewed my respect for him."

- Why? -

"You would not believe how difficult it is to be him."

- Uhh... Are you going to elaborate? - Desmond asked.

"Promise not to tell anyone and I'll tell you." Ezio smirked cryptically as he steer the horse towards the countryside.

- Okay...? -

"He's fragile."

- Excuse me? -

"He's fragile." The Florentine Assassin repeated. "So much that I don't think we can take a hit."

- Oh, I know that. - Desmond agreed. - Synch rate always drops drastically whenever I cause him to mess up a parry, and he wouldn't talk to me for hours afterwards every time that happens. -

"No, no. I mean _literally_ cannot take a hit." Ezio rephrased. "Remember a few hours ago when we took a shortcut out the castle window? Well, I think I almost broke my fingers trying to catch that ledge on the way down."

- You WHAT?! -

"Yeah, so I don't think we should attempt that anymore." The Italian feigned a mock seriousness. "Now I'm afraid I'll bruise if we bump into things." The Florentine Eagle could almost see his youngest descendant shaking a head at that comment. "And here I am, growing increasingly worried of the day I need to defend our delicate flesh."

- Sounds like you'll do fine. -

"Really though. I seriously cannot imagine how he managed to achieve the Master Assassin rank at such a young age, especially with... this." Ezio gestured generally at himself. "He has got to be impossibly good."

- Oh, I can vouch for that. -

They talked amongst themselves on random things until they closed in on the archway that marked the borders of the Assassin territory, and Ezio straightened himself before blinking his eyes into shimmering gold. "Jamal is over there, should we do something about it?"

- Altaïr assassinated him the last time we synched. But I think he only did it for giggles. -

"... Can you stop giving me confusing instructions?"

.

.

**[Florentine Republic. 1476.] ****(Altaïr. Clay.)**

How did it happen?

It was dusk. The beginning of living the second day as this curious Italian teen.  
And the Palazzo Auditore was eerily still. Forbidding in this strange quietness, and all warmth and welcome gone with the absence of its cheerful residents.

How did it happen?

His mother was defiled and in shock.  
She is not my mother.

His sister was frightened.  
She is not my sister.

His father and brothers accused and in prison.  
He is not my father. He is not my brother. He is not my...

How did it happen?

It was night.

Altaïr found himself climbing the restricted clock tower of Palazzo della Signoria, clutching tightly onto the steel bars over a high drop and desperately looking for a way to make everything alright.  
And now he could see what his father truly was. Not a persecuted banker but an eagle, broken and would be another sacrifice for war.  
No. Altaïr had to forcefully remind himself. He is not my father.

How did it happen?

And then it was dawn.  
And Altaïr was at the city square.

The sky flickered and flickered. Clay was silent. But the Masyaf Eagle did not care.

He was seventeen, and he saw his father and brothers executed.

He was eleven, and he saw his father beheaded.

Then Altaïr very suddenly remembered he had already seen that five thousand times, maybe more and counting, once for each reruns of his files.  
And always so _powerless_ to prevent the inevitable.

The landscape flickered and shook.  
And only the wind heard his cries.

He was at the fortress. He was at the city square.

.

**Memory**** Synchronization: 100%**

.

**Memory Synchronization: 100%... 90%... 50%... 10%...**

.

******Memory Synchronization: ... 0%**

.

**************Memory Synchronization: 0%**

******Memory Synchronization: 0%**

**********Memory Synchronization: 0%**

.

**SYSTEM FAILURE.**

.

**Restarting...**

.

**Restarting...**

.

**Restarting...  
**

**Restarting...**

**Restarting...**

**Restarting...**

**Restarting... ...**

.

.

_Note_

Ezio is physically stronger and tougher than Altaïr. There are multiple instances in the AC games that hinted as such.  
1) When executing the multiple hidden blade stabs to the torso, Ezio performs more strikes than Altaïr in the same amount of time. This is because it is easier for him to pull back blades buried in another's body.

2) Altaïr needs special harness for protection to perform the Catch Ledge, Ezio does not.  
- In the current memory sequence, Ezio was not in possession of that glove, thus he almost wounded himself when attempting the stunt.

3) When performing the Climb Leap, Ezio supports his whole body weight with one arm, a feat beyond Altaïr's physical ability.  
- This advantage in strength also allowed him to scale buildings faster, as Altaïr found out.

However, the greater in muscle mass means Ezio is heavier than Altaïr. This is another reason for his lack of relative fluidity and flexibility.  
Also, when running straight-up the wall from a level, due to being lighter, Altaïr can reach a higher handhold. Thus most of the time, he doesn't require the aforementioned Climb Leap skill.

.

.

.

* * *

_Please note that Altaïr is still a lot stronger than average and that Ezio is__ more flexible than most men, due to the life they lead.__  
_

___The digital conscious of __Altaïr had the mentality of when he was 17, to correspond with the physical age of Ezio during that memory sequence. This meant he WOULD waste the lives of innocents if they got in his way._


	4. Virus infection

_disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters._

.

The thoughts.  
(Which was difficult for any Observer to decipher.)

"The normal speech."  
"(Which could always be heard by Observers.)"

- The words of Observers. -  
- (Which was broadcast.) -

.

.

* * *

.

**Content Data, Glitch**

.

**[Abstergo System- Animus Training Program]**

**Memory File_** **Unknown**

Uploading...

**.**

**WARNING.**

Virus Detected.

**.**

**Memory File_** **Templar Agent #84**

Deleting...

Deleted.

**.**

**Memory File_** **Templar Agent #221**

Deleting...

Deleted.

**.**

**.**

**[****Black Room****] (Desmond****. Clay.****)**

**Memory File_** **Unknown**

Uploading...

**.**

**WARNING.**

Virus Detected.

**.**

**Memory File_** **Subject #16**

Deleting...

Failure to locate Memory Files.

**.**

**Memory File_** **Subject #17**

Deleting...

Failure to locate Memory Files.

**.**

**.**

**[Animus Island.] (Desmond. Clay.)**

Desmond groaned, feeling a sharp pain in his head. "What the hell just happened?" He mumbled, slowly getting up from where he has been laying on the ground.

"We were discovered snooping, wandering outside our designated partitions." Clay's voice sounded from the sides and Desmond turned, seeing the other man slacking on a large rock. "By a virus it seems. But fortunately I was able to pull us back here before the Animus bug could actually catch us."

"That doesn't sound assuring."

"It doesn't." Clay rolled his eyes. "The system is getting unstable. Too many different sequences running at the same time, not enough spaces in the memory drive. It gives some computer virus the opening to run rampage, deleting archives left and right. And I'll be betting the idling files and the corrupted files will be the first to go."

"... So are we idling files or corrupted files?" Desmond asked, but felt stupid almost immediately after the words left his mouth.

Clay looked at him. "I think there's a problem that you are starting to think yourself as _files_." He said. "But strictly speaking, we're both. Since our archives aren't running."

"Okay, stop." Desmond held up his hands in defeat. "I didn't even know we need to run our own memories!"

The older man sighed in exasperation. "Tell you what, I think we should change tactic. I'll deal with our idling files, and you can go look for the synch nexus."

"Alone?!" The former bartender did not like the idea at all. "That's decades of lifetime to cover. It'll take forever!"

"So better STOP wasting time." Clay said, already pushing the reluctant conscious of the younger Assassin towards the ominous bluish white glow. "Get going!"

"What about that weird glitch? What about that weird glitch!"

His complaints went unheard.

.

.

**[****Abstergo System]/[****Memory Corridor]**

**Animus Anti-Virus Programs**

Uploading...

**.**

**Memory File_** **Unknown**

Deleting...

Deleting...

Deleting...

Failure to locate Virus Memory Files.

.

.

******[Black Room]/****[****Memory Corridor- Safe Mode]**

**Animus Anti-Virus Programs**

Uploading...

**.**

**Memory File_** **Unknown**

Deleting...

Deleting...

Deleting...

Failure to locate Virus Memory Files.

.

.

**[****Jerusalem. 1191.****] (Ezio.)**

Glitches were all over the place.

After being disintegrated for no reason while making his way slowly to Damascus on horseback, Ezio found himself reconstructed in the middle of a claustrophobic garden of some sort, with fine carpets draped on the walls and colorful pillows thrown about the corners.  
The only reassuring thing about this place was the very obvious Assassin insignia on the far side above the small fountain.

Where am I? Ezio thought as he waited for Desmond to manually upload the required knowledge, an understandable inconvenience for content data sentience that wandered around files where they didn't belong. Is this the rumored Assassins' Bureau?

But the database only gave him statics. And the Observer was silent.

Figuring the only course of action was through the door-less frame to the side, Ezio silently entered, eyes soon adjusted to the dimly lit chamber and focus immediately went to the person behind the desk. He was surprised to find he recognize that man.

"Malik?"

The older man looked up with a scowl, clearly had already heard the Assassin's presence in the garden. "What do you want?"

Playing the scenario, Ezio was about to open his mouth to recite the words Desmond taught him before the sudden system malfunction and reset, but then he noticed the other man's missing arm, which surely wasn't missing the last time. So the Florentine Assassin instead asked "What happened to you?" with much concern, gesturing at the missing limb.  
His modern descendant had told him multiple times now to break the Italian habit of talking with his hands, but so far no luck.

The question, however, caused an unexpected negative reaction. And Malik's frown deepened considerably. "Get out. I do not find this amusing."

"No, sorry." Ezio backtracked, thinking he veered off the script again as he quickly recalled what he was supposed to say. "I'm here to find a man named Tamir. Al Mualim apparently takes issue with the works he does, and I'm told to end it."

"Leave!" Malik scathingly ground out, right hand awkwardly pointed at the doorway to his left.

Now Ezio was really at a lost. "But I was told to retrieve information on Tamir at the bureau..."

"Tamir was dead, slain by _your_ hands in Damascus." The bureau rafiq hissed. "Or have you forgotten that as well? Like how you so conveniently forgot that I lost my arm _and_ my brother, because of YOU!"

The accusation came as quite a shock, and Ezio didn't know what to say. His database was missing many important files and he had unintentionally skipped ahead more than a reasonable few sequences, Desmond was still silent, and the white-clad Eagle was feeling confused. "I... I'm very sorry?"

"Do you think this is funny, that you _dare_ joke about it in my presence?!" Malik was almost screaming now. "Get out of my sight!"

This time Ezio complied, with as much dignity as he could muster, and returned to the adjoin garden. He was thinking of trying to figure out the assigned mission regardless when he discovered another major obstacle: outside the rooftop trapdoor were only bluish black fog and data-lines and nothingness.

The Animus had frozen him in a specific memory.

It happened whenever Anti-Virus Programs sanction off multiple partitions to corner system bugs and corrupted files. So Ezio considered his few options. Returning to the Memory Corridor would give him freedom, but he would also be exposed and hunted down; or to stay here and endure the wrath of Malik– who clearly hated him– until the Programs free off enough space to load the next sequence.

Ezio returned to the chamber.

"Why are you still _here_?"

"Malik, I'm sorry for whatever it is that you're angry at me about. But I really need a place to stay." Ezio persuaded, he didn't care about straying off the script, since being frozen meant there was no worry of desynch. "Do a favor for a fellow Assassin, _sì_?"

Then a sword was pointed at his face, causing the Italian to retreat a step. But despite the hostility, the rafiq now looked more suspicious than angered. "You are not Altaïr." He stated, and the younger man suddenly felt his mouth gone dry. "Who are you?"

"I am Altaïr." Ezio didn't expect this turn of events and he tried to salvage the situation, all the while wondering if this is going to crash the Animus system even more. "Don't you recognize a friend?"

"Altaïr is never my friend." Malik's reply was cold as ice. "And you certainly are not him." The sword flicked dangerously. "Explain yourself, and give me a good reason why I should spare your life."

"What is there to explain?" Ezio kept his expression relatively calm, but inwardly he was panicking. All of this was not supposed to happen.

But the rafiq was apparently not very patient, and the only warning was another deepened frown before he leaped over the desk, sword posed to strike.  
Despite being caught completely off guard, Ezio– having a lifetime of skills ingrained into his basic memory core– immediately brought up his left hidden blade in defense.

CLANK!

But of course, the blade shattered the second time.

And now the Florentine Eagle was cursing the skills programmed so thoroughly into his existence and the reflexes that he, as data, could not possibly break. Dodging to the side, he tried in vain to find the opening to draw his sword. But Malik didn't give him any chance, and it was a quick fight after that in the enclosed space.

"Talk." The older man demanded, pinning the hooded Assassin onto the ground with the sharp of the blade at his neck.

If I break the system I'm blaming it on Desmond. Ezio thought, holding up his hands with some difficulty to show that he wasn't planning to struggle. "I'm Ezio Auditore da Firenze, 15th century Assassin from Italy." He spilled out. "I am only accessing this memory file because Altaïr's data are unavailable."

Malik glared at him. "You are speaking in riddles." He hissed, pressing forward, the tip of the blade drawing fresh blood. "You are either mad or you wielded sorcery to claim another's body. And I am inclined to believe the latter, however impossible, since you clearly has that moron's face."

"No! This is... uhh..." Ezio wanted to kill whoever or whatever caused this glitch. "I was bewitched by the Templars!" He was making things up at random now. "It was the Apple; the Templars used it to make me believe I am someone else."

The one-armed man looked at him. "The Templars?"

"Yes!"

"You mean the Crusaders."

"NO!" Ezio groaned. "I mean the group that called themselves Templars!"

"As in the Crusaders?" Malik questioned, very suspicious.

"No! Stop obsessing over the Crusaders!"

"You brought them up!"

"I DIDN'T!" The younger man almost wailed. "How can you not know about the Templars?"

"They are a branch of the Crusaders."

"No! I mean... yes, they are. But it's not the same."

Malik just stared at Ezio like he was crazy, or stupid, or both. And Ezio just wanted to bang his head on the wall.

Desmond? Anybody? Reload this file please?

.

_Note- Small reminder_

It is slightly more complicated but put simply, the Templar Order as a complete independent organization from the Crusaders Armies was only revealed late in AC1. A conspiracy discovered by Altaïr. (And sadly, it is a mistake too many fan writers make.)  
The knowledge dissonance thus resulted in the confusion between Ezio and Malik.

Also as noted in chap1, the hidden blades of the 12th century were extremely brittle. They cannot be used for defense.  
It is in fact the _canon reason_ why Altaïr lack the deflecting ability while using his hidden blade.

.

.

**[****Memory Corridor- Safe Mode] (****Altaïr. ****Desmond. ****Clay.**)

What the hell? Desmond looked at his hands. He had hands! And legs! And a body! And wearing the same black hoodie from the one in Animus Island!

But it shouldn't have happened. He launched his conscious as an Observer; he didn't upload his data. The system shouldn't have constructed a physical form for him in the Memory Corridor, but it did. And something had gone very, very wrong. Because the Anti-Virus Programs were probably still looking for wandering corrupted files and the elusive Animus bug, and the said bug was likely still roaming free deleting any file it could find.

And Desmond had just stupidly uploaded his data into the Memory Corridor, due to some absurd coding mistake, right out in the open. For those two predatory Programs to find and slaughter.

Juuust GREAT!

He started running, looking for any arrays or clusters that would allow him to take temporary shelter...

You should not be here.

Desmond paused, looking around. The voice sounded familiar, but due to everything being binary in this endless Corridor, he could not make out the language it was spoken in. Did someone just talked?

I did.

The ex-bartender looked up.

The tail of long robes and black capes was digitally constructed a few yards overhead. A man was crouching at a slightly higher but equally invisible plane, peering down at him from under his white hood.

The modern Assassin didn't immediately recognize the man in the eccentric looking black and red multilayered cloak, but then he widened his eyes.

... Altaïr? Desmond softly asked, walking forward, but he wasn't very sure. The hood was hiding most of the other man's face, and those were not the white robes he was familiar with.

The man slightly dipped his head, as an acknowledgment. Are you doing well, Desmond?

The modern Assassin wasn't sure how to respond exactly, only a few exchanged words and he already noted that this person was a bit too– Gentle? Kind? Soft-spoken? It felt weird.

Yes, I guess I'm fine. Relatively.

That is good.

Okay, stop right there. Desmond raised his hands in surrender. You're acting all... different. It's freaking me out!

Different?

Different from the Altaïr I know.

A soft chuckle. You only know me during my younger days. The cloaked man mused, and Desmond suddenly noticed the many creases on his hands. But I am afraid I cannot allow you to see him, if I have a say.

Why?

It is too dangerous.

Desmond frowned. I don't understand.

The sentience wears many masks. Altaïr answered, a wrinkled hand moved to cover half of his face. And Desmond saw the golden glint of his eyes from underneath those aged fingers.

Desmond swallowed. The sentience? He asked, now taking cautious steps back.

The pixels surrounded the Master Assassin were changing, the blacks disappearing quickly while the whites become more predominant. And as the hand slowly lowered, it wasn't hard to notice the wrinkles smoothed over, regaining its youth and power.

The virus.

At the simple reply, Desmond paled, before making a 180 degree turn and fleeing at the top of his speed.

A very soft, very distinct, and too familiar Tzing! of the hidden blade sounded behind him. And Desmond suddenly really, really wanted to kill Clay for making him try to find the synch nexus when the system was this unstable. Because now, a half-crazed and horrifyingly fast Masyaf Eagle was flying after him with something sharp and pointy in his hand!

And unlike in a memory sequence, the Animus super bug was _very_ capable of erasing him for real.

Speaking of Clay...

CLAY! Desmond screamed in his head. The file corrupted by the virus is the archives of young Altaïr, so whatever you do, don't load it!

- It's a little too late for that now. -

Desmond almost jumped when he heard the guy's voice.

- Is your mind totally broken? Why did you upload your data? -

It was a mistake, or a glitch, whatever. Desmond panted, chancing a look back. No sign of the white-clad death angel in sight, but it still didn't feel safe. Clay, before you start laughing, load me into a memory where I can hide.

- The Anti-Virus Programs locked off most files to corner the bug.** -**

I'm being _chased_ by it, him, whatever!

- I'll hack into something. Wait a min. -

My life is on the line here!

- I found a platform available, but you're not going to like it. -

Uhh...?

.

.

**[Abstergo System- Animus Training Program] (Desmond.)**

**Memory File_** **Subject #17**

Uploading...

.

Oh, come _on_. You load me into the Abstergo System?! Desmond bemoaned, burying his head into his hands as a beautiful Venetian night constructed around him.

Seriously. Fuck my life.

.

.

.

* * *

_The _**_Training Program_**_ is the AC:R multiplayer.  
For those who are not so familiar with the game, it is a virtual platform for advance Templar training via the Animus._

_**[****Memory Corridor]** is whitish, accessed through the usual means (AC1, AC2, AC:B, AC3). **[****Memory Corridor- Safe Mode]** is blackish,__ accessed through the_**__**** [Black Room] **_(AC:R)__.  
Logging into the white __Corridor via Black Room will instantly get Desmond or Clay detected and deleted by the Program._


	5. The angel

_disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters._

.

The thoughts.  
(Which was difficult for Observers to decipher.)

"The normal speech."  
"(Which could always be heard by Observers.)"

- The words of Observers. -  
- (Which was broadcast.) -

.

_Fact: Fate is ironic._

.

.

* * *

.

**Content Data, Glitch**

.

**[Abstergo System- Animus Training Program]**** (Desmond.)**

Desmond shrank to a secluded corner on an overpopulated street of Venice, thankful for the protection of the night and that electricity apparently wasn't discovered yet during the time period of this file sequence– whenever it was. He didn't know how long he would be forced to stay in this program, but it would be a stroke of luck if he was freed within the hour.  
Which was highly unlikely.

And contacting Clay was out of the question, as there was the chance of it drawing unwanted attention to the both of them. So the only sensible action for him would be to suck it up, quit his complaining, and weather the next few computerize compacted hours– or God forbid, _days_– in this high Templar density zone. Alone.

The modern Assassin pulled down his newly generated white hood to better conceal his features, and sighed. He wasn't cut out for this, that was sure, but at least so far he was incognito and there wasn't an 12th century Eagle out for his blood.

A soft hum. Causing Desmond to furrow his brows to Listen to what had been newly uploaded into His Database. It seemed like the program had mistaken him as another Agent and proceeded to treat him as such, giving him the objectives and simple tips.  
First informing him he had the identity of Vali cel Tradat, codename the Sentinel, an early 16th century Assassin-turn-Templar. And man, that didn't feel ironic at all!  
Then the system told him he had four hours fifty-something minutes remaining to find and kill some guy called Cyril the Deacon, and "avoid being killed by other Agents."

Yeah, no kidding. Desmond reflected. Then abruptly stopped himself, worried that his thoughts could be heard.

Ignoring the given objective, he left the corner and joined a passing crowd. He was going to lay low for the duration of the five-hour time limit, maybe by then he would be able to find a crack in the Abstergo System and return to Animus Island via the Black Room.

.

**Memory File_** **Unknown**

Uploading...

.

Before being fully constructed, Altaïr was already testing his body by stretching his arms and legs under the extravagant white robes, subtly noting the few unwanted small cracks of joints here and there. The image he was forced to function in was extremely unstable and his robes seemed unable to determine whether to be plain or eccentric, but the Syrian Assassin wouldn't complain as much considering it meant he was a lot less stiff than the last time.

Crouching low on the roof hidden within the long shadows invisible to all prying eyes, Altaïr scanned the area drinking in all the new information stolen and profiled into his database. Though the large body of water that surrounded the district caused him to frown a little, the Master Assassin could still feel the eagle in him screech in defiance and bloodlust. And he mentally thanked Desmond for leading him into this hunting ground.

The heart of Abstergo System, with fledgling Templars free for picking.  
And with less than five hours before the revamp of the program, Altaïr would make sure all his kills count.

Just then a group of five identically dressed Knights walked pass on the street below seemingly to patrol the area, oblivious to the presence of the deadly predator overhead. Four of them red... and one of them _gold_.

The Agent didn't even see the white death angel descending from the night.

.

**Memory File_** **Templar Agent #202**

Deleting...

Deleted.

.

.

**[****Jerusalem. 1191.****] (Ezio.)**

The room flickered dangerously.

The corners started to crumble.

Ezio hardened his eyes and Malik only saw a flicker of resolution– of fear?–before he was very abruptly kicked in the midsection. The rafiq cursed himself for dropping his guard for even the fraction of a second and immediately held up the sword in prepare to counter.

But Malik didn't understand.  
Because he was just an echo, blessed to only exist in Jerusalem during the Third Crusade.

What Ezio saw was different.

He saw the walls erode away by digital pixels.

He saw broken images of flags blinking in and out of existence.

He saw ghost of people who should be weeks, months, or even years apart.

He saw the corruption of_ his own files_ as he staggered to his feet, right arm had been corroded to his elbow while he desperately reload trying to save himself.

Malik attacked again.

And Ezio easily deflected the assault with the renewed wrist-blade. The meticulous Italian design and the silver Assassin symbol adorned vambrace reflected in the artificial light.

Malik was shocked by the sudden appearance of the second hidden blade.  
Ezio cursed, even more frustrated that it came out the gibberish of half Arabic and half Italian, realizing he was getting less Altaïr by the minutes and more himself. Not having much choice, he sprinted out of the bureau– stumbled once, because he was becoming awfully asymmetrical– and started to manually upload random landmarks into the Memory Corridor.

Was he discovered?

Ezio frowned, leaping across the patchwork mess of Masyaf and Florence and Acre and Venice that was trying to pass as Jerusalem.

.

.

**[Abstergo System- Animus Training Program]**** (Altaïr. Desmond.)**

The system was screaming warning of the virus, and informing all Agents to move to the emergency exit to log off. But then large crates fell from the sky, crushing a few pedestrians and creating a blockage that cut off the escape route.

Desmond only barely dodged the onslaught when he saw the ghostly tip of white wings disappear into the rooftop. He knew better than to dismiss it as illusions.

Shit. Shit. ShitShitShit.

He turned another corner fleeing down a different alley, and saw the Trickster and the Guardian joined his desperate escape.

"What's going on?"

"Bet it's that Assassin hacker." The Trickster said bitterly. "Thought the guy would at least rest for a few days since there were already two victims this morning."

"Assassin... hacker?" Desmond asked.

"You don't know? Where have you been?" But she didn't wait for the (fake-)Agent to come up with a reply before sighing. "It has come a long way, but Dr. Vidic has concluded last week that the long string of training Agents falling into unexplained comas was due to an Assassin using the Animus to hack into our centre-system and deleting Memory Files while our conscious was in the database. That's why now there are multiple emergency exits in all platforms." Another bitter sigh. "For all the good it does."

Holy fucking _shit_. Desmond gaped. Altaïr is _still_ a fucking Templar killing machine?! Something like, what, eight hundred years after he was supposed to be dead?

"And I was this close to becoming a Master Templar." The Guardian spitted angrily. "We should reassemble at the docks and take a stand, destroy that guy, give him a taste of his own medicine. And a success would protect our other brothers and sisters."

"NO!" Desmond rejected a little too quickly.

"It is necessary evil." The Guardian was determined, already steering the group to the docks. "There are three of us, we could do it."

"You don't understand." The undercover Assassin vehemently shook his head. "That guy back there, he's no ordinary Assassin. We're better off run while we can."

"Don't be a cowar–"

A flash of white.

And Desmond saw the angel of death slam the Guardian into the ground, the hidden claw of the Eagle pierced through the rib cage, before that pair of beautiful– and too _fucking_ scary– golden eyes were turned to him.

.

**Memory File_** **Templar Agent #60**

Deleting...

Deleted.

.

The Trickster was shocked speechless.

And the disguised Assassin fell on his behind, knees weak.

"Altaïr...?"

But the Master Assassin said nothing, only move to grab the Sentinel by his white hood, causing the digital camouflage to crumble and temporarily exposing Desmond Miles in his black hoodie. "Altaïr, why are you doing this?" He asked weakly. "Why are you after _me_? I'm an Assassin, for Christ's sake."

The Eagle slightly lowered his sharp gaze, but still firmly held his ground. "You were compromised, like those before you. Like the sixteenth." The answer was soft, almost like a whisper. And not for the first time, the modern Assassin wondered what kind of sadistic deity thought it would be amusing to give The Voice of Violent Death such a gentle tenor. That shouldn't be _allowed_! Because it gave all the wrong impressions, and left people wanting to confess their heart out before dying in his arms.

And maybe Desmond was over thinking it, and should really stop trying to come up with something awesome as his last words.

So he shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable knife to his lung and the corruption of his Memory Files.

.

But...?

It... didn't happen?

.

**Searching For Relevant Memory Data...**

.

What...?

What are you doing?

I cannot allow you the embrace of sleep.

What?

Your knowledge could still be accessed in that state.

.

**Memory Match Found.**

Total matched files: 24 files.

.

Stop. Altaïr, stop...!

My head...!

.

**Uploading Memory Data.**

Completed: 0%

Completed: 2%

Completed: 5%

.

Quite suddenly, Altaïr let go of his hand and did an elegant somersault backwards. Then a smoke bomb exploded in the close vicinity, blinding Desmond.

.

**Uploading Memory Data.**

Failure.

Completion: 6%

.

- Desmond, you there? Answer me. -

Never before had Desmond hear a voice that brought so much joy and dread at the same time. It was Clay! It was a chance of escape, but it also very suddenly made the ex-bartender's throat felt tight.

_Like the sixteenth._

_I cannot allow you the embrace of sleep._

_Your knowledge could still be accessed in that state._

Altaïr... Altaïr didn't want to put him into a coma. Desmond realized with a cold start. The Great Eagle wanted him dead, like Clay, and who knew how many other subjects before them. But ultimately Altaïr was still trapped inside the computer screen; the bringer of death could not wield a true blade. So...

_Total matched files: 24 files._

Is he... trying to trigger a severe case of Bleeding Effect? Desmond thought with much horror. He was already half a step away from the loony bin with two guys talking in his head, what would he become with two _dozen_?

- Desmond? -

Oh, no. Clay, Clay is a target as well!

.

The Templar Agents were still trying to take down Altaïr it seemed, but Desmond didn't have the time to check. Coughing heavily and half blind, he stumbled into the closest body of disgusting water and tried to put as much distance between himself and the deadly Eagle.  
He had to think of something, anything. Or both he and Clay would be in danger.

Another two splashes. The Trickster and the Bombardier had joined him in the water.

"I shouldn't have signed up for this." The Ottoman avatar moaned.

"Don't worry." Desmond panted. "I don't think he can get us in the water."

"You sure?" The Trickster asked, sounding hopeful.

"The guy can't swim."

"That's good news." The Bombardier breathed in relief, turning back to scrutinize the chaos on the docks. "So now we'll just have to wait until–"

He didn't get to finish the sentence, head rolling back, and there was a _fucking_ foot-long throwing knife buried in his right eye socket.

.

**Memory File_** **Templar Agent #308**

Deleting...

Deleted.

.

The Trickster screamed.

And Desmond was very tempted to join her and scream like a little girl.

.

- I'm pulling you out. -

"NO! CLAY, STOP!"

.

.

_Note_

Of all the Assassins throughout history, Altaïr is arguably the most loyal to the Creed. Fate is just an ironic bitch that within the Brotherhood, he also happens to end up with the most Assassin blood on his hands.  
His killings of compromised brothers and sisters are not out-of-character, if it means upholding the mutual belief of their Creed.  
It is possible his low tolerance on this subject an indirect result of Umar Ibn-La'Ahad being sentenced to death due to a fellow Assassin (Ahmad Sofian) exposing his father's name under pressure after being compromised.

Fact: All other Assassins who came close to Altaïr's kill-count were branded traitors, namely Perotto Calderon, Haytham Kenway and Daniel Cross. It is also likely that Altaïr had killed more Assassins during his lifetime than any known Templar. The irony.

.

.

.

* * *

_Altaïr was sometimes called an angel.  
A few times during the game and the "Altaïr was here" trailer wasn't even bother on trying to be subtle._

_I think __Altaïr's gentle (read: angelic) tenor is the reason Templars are willing to give him heartfelt confessions before dying. And that Ezio's lack of it, having a sexy baritone instead, is why ____Templars more often than not gave him crap and last taunts. I find it hilarious._  


_______Finally, my apologize for the relatively lack of Ezio in this chapter. Next up: The demon._


	6. The demon

_disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters._

.

The thoughts.  
(Which was difficult for any Observer to decipher.)

"The normal speech."  
"(Which could always be heard by Observers.)"

- The words of Observers. -  
- (Which was broadcast.) -

.

_Fact: Looks can be deceiving._

.

.

* * *

.

**Content Data, Glitch**

.

**[****Memory Corridor- Safe Mode] (Desmond. Clay.)**

Desmond found himself back in the gloomy loading ground darkness, laying flat in the middle of the wide expanse that just begs anti-virus systems to hunt him down. A shift to the side, and the jumpy modern Assassin immediately leaped to his feet and found... a pretty brunette in jeans and jackets? Huh?

The young woman blinked at him before dusting herself off and stood. Where are we? She asked in her thoughts.

This is the Safe Mode of the Memory Corridor. Desmond explained, still cautious of his unexpected company. Who are you?

The woman narrowed her eyes like he just asked a stupid question. I'm Natalie.

Desmond looked at her, not recognizing the name.

Agent #98? Natalie couldn't believe she was trapped somewhere in the computer with an idiot. The Trickster? Do you remember now?

That got a reaction out of Desmond. You're a Temp–?! Why are you– How...? What?

You're the one who helped me escape the mad virus. Natalie said impatiently, and then she inspected the Assassin more closely. Who are you anyway? Don't think I've ever seen you in the training building before.

Desmond's first reflex was to makeup a bullshit name. I'm Ja–

- Desmond! Are you okay? -

Fuck you, Clay.

Desmond? Natalie was now looking at him with a suspicious frown.

- Whoa, didn't know we have a Templar problem as well. -

The young ex-bartender facepalmed, like how he wanted to do for a long while, and the out-of-place Templar woman who was the Trickster moments ago began putting two and two together. She then started to slowly back away from Desmond, like he was a mass murdering lunatic... or related to some sort of mass murdering lunatic... which wasn't exactly too far off.

Just my luck. She rasped. You people are those Assassin hackers, huh?

- Assassins, yes. Hackers, definitely. - Clay proudly admitted.

I'm not! Desmond instantly denied. Well, I'm no computer hack–

A flicker of the loading ground interrupted all further debate. And they were suddenly reminded of the pressing matter concerning a certain Assassin virus.

Load us into someplace first! The Templar almost shrieked.

Sorry, but I'm kind of hoping not going back to any Abstergo system. The younger Assassin quipped. Is there no other place?

- Okay, okay. Such demands. - Clay slightly cackled. - Ezio is apparently still keeping a file of 1191-Jerusalem running, wanna join him?** -**

Desmond nodded, and the woman begrudgingly agreed. Neither having much liberty of choice.

- Let's see, what avatars to load. - Clay scrolled through the available options. - Hey Desmond, do you want to be Robert de Sablé? He looks tough. -

NO! Altaïr is going to put a knife through me at first chance if I'm Robert! The younger man screeched. Why can't I be Altaïr like before?

- Because Ezio is Altaïr right now. -

Can't you just choose avatars that are less likely going to get us killed? The Templar rolled her eyes.

- I'm not familiar with the guy's life. Ask Desmond. -

Natalie glared at said Assassin.

Oh, I know! Desmond exclaimed. Maria is a safe choice. There's no way Altaïr would kill his wife.

The Templar woman nodded. Her image soon disintegrated, replaced by the avatar of the lovely Maria Thorpe.

- What about you? -

Now Desmond had to think of a guy in Jerusalem that Altaïr would feel least stabby around, and the answer immediately came to mind. Malik Al-Sayf!

Clay checked the avatar.

- Are you sure? - The Observer questioned after a pregnant pause. - If this trick didn't work, you'll have to fend off Altaïr with one hand. -

Desmond paled at the thought.

Another pregnant pause.

Can I be Maria?

Natalie punched him in the face.

- Strange. - Clay suddenly noted, noticing an unexpected irregularity. - There's a new file in your database, when did you decode another genetic memory? -

Desmond thought back to how the virus had tried to screw with his brain during the few short seconds having gotten hands on him, and the modern Assassin soundlessly groaned, rubbing where he had just been hit. Damnit, I thought the Animus uploading had failed!

- On the bright side, now we have a suitable avatar for you. -

Fine, fine. Who is it this time?

- Aquilus. - The older Observer informed.

Who would have _possibly_ guessed! The ex-bartender dramatically held up his hands. Another eagle related name, that's totally original!

Clay ignored the exclamation. - The database only said he's a Gallo-Roman Assassin from the 3rd century. - A thoughtful chuckle. - Hey, looks like this guy's your earliest recorded ancestor. -

I'm going to be a 3rd century something-Roman in 12th century Jerusalem? Desmond asked, tone dry as desert. Jeez, that's not conspicuous at all.

- Or you could be a 21st century bartender in 12th century Jerusalem. Your choice. -

Hahaha. Shut up.

.

_Note_

Aquilus is probably Desmond's least known canon ancestor. He once held the Piece of Eden- Ankh, before he was executed.

.

.

**[Jerusalem. 1191.] (Ezio. Desmond. Clay.)**

This was not Jerusalem.

"What the hell did you do, Ezio?" Desmond groaned, gently pushing aside a beggar woman while trying to walk by two Italian minstrels. At the street corner was a group of mixed Saracen soldiers and Venetian guards that were giving him the suspicious eye, and he quickly lower his head and round the ally.  
There he was swarmed by a huge platoon of white-robed scholars and black-robed monks.

The good thing about the anachronism was that Desmond, in Roman style white skirt and golden chest plate, did not really stand out. But a whisper immediately proved the ex-bartender's presumption wrong and made him freeze in his steps. "The Assassin should be dealt with!"

Feeling self-conscious, the young Assassin darted to the side, all the while trying to catch pieces of the dialogue. "Ah! That unholy demon!"

"They say the devil has gifted him with unnatural speed and strength!" Only now realizing those scholars and monks weren't talking about him, Desmond quickly let out the breath he didn't know he was holding– when a hand fell on his shoulder.

"Desmond?"

Said Assassin almost jumped out of his skin upon hearing the gentle tenor; spinning a bit too fast on his heels, he saw the white Eagle appearing out of nowhere behind him and it was enough to trigger some sort of weird self-induced heart attack... but then he remembered the content-glitch and nearly collapse in relief.

This was not Altaïr, this was...

"Accipiter?" Desmond gasped, then immediately wanted to slap himself. Okay, just who the fuck is Accipiter? "No, wait. I'm getting confused. You're... Ezio?"

Ezio looked concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Considering that there's a crazed Master Assassin after me? Everything's peachy."

The Florentine Eagle tilted his head. "... I'm assuming you're not talking about me?"

"No. I'm talking about–" Desmond stopped himself, the garment of the computerized conscious caught his eye. "What the hell are you wearing?" And the Italian really was more himself at the moment, about sixty-forty, an odd blend of two people and four different robes: black tails, white hood, flashy belt, and hidden blades from two eras.

That earned him a look from Ezio. "And what the hell are _you_ wearing?"

"Point taken."

"What are you doing here?"

Desmond sighed. "I'm running from Altaïr." He admitted. "But since returning to the Animus Island might lead him straight to our last hiding spot and we can't have that, so Clay kind of dumped me here."

A herald off the side of the street suddenly cried out: "Heed well my words! Your wicked ways have incurred the wrath of a demon! Summoned by your sins, he now walks our world, cloaked in shadow and darkness! And everywhere he treads, _death follows_!" Desmond half-turned to the preaching voice, and barely caught the twitch at the corner of Ezio's eyes.

"Ignore them, Desmond." Ezio said, gently tapped on the modern Assassin's shoulder. "Why are you running from Altaïr anyway?"

"I kind of discovered that he's the virus."

For some reason, the Florentine Eagle looked amused.

"You don't seem surprised." Desmond noted. "Or worried, for that matter."

"I'm not. Altaïr is different from the rest of us, so we kind of expect the killing virus to be him." Ezio chuckled softly. "As for why I'm not too worried... There are always around five hundred different memory files in the Animus core give or take– if it wasn't for him, there would probably be more than five _thousand_ by now and cause data overflow– but I think only four of us are Master Assassins. So it's unlikely he will come after me, seeing as I am one of the few who has a chance of matching him."

"Beware of the flying demon!" A soldier screamed, running in the opposite direction.

"That's a relief." Desmond subconsciously moved closer to Ezio. "What do you mean Altaïr is different from the rest of you guys?"

"He's the only one of us whose file is broken into pieces."

"Why?"

"Because not all of his files come from genetic memories." The Italian answered. "It's difficult to explain, just know that he has different files, one from genetic records and others from seals."

"Oookay."

"You have lost your virtue, your dignity, your faith! And this draws the demon in to feed, and feed he will! All whilst you wander lost in ignorance. Know that good men have died protecting you from evils!" This time was a panicking monk.

Desmond raised a hand. "Seriously Ezio, what is wrong with this memory sequence?" He asked. "People are throwing random ominous words at us!"

On cue, another monk cried out "By the light of the Lord, be cleansed!" at their face.

"No, _grazie_." Ezio sighed at the preacher, before he turned to Desmond. "I've been ignoring the people that belonged to my files because I want to synch with Altaïr." A tired shake of his head. "But the more I turn away, the more vehement they vie for my attention."

"I will put you on your knees, sinner!" The guy just refused to give up.

"You would really enjoy that, wouldn't you?" Ezio gave the poor monk one of _those_ smirks, making Desmond groan for his behalf. "You're encouraging him, Ezio! I bet you're loosing more synch points for being flirty than anything else."

"Give me strength, O Lord, that I might cast out this demon!"

"Fine, fine." Ezio turned down a different street with the modern Assassin in tow, making way towards the graveyard of David's Citadel.

"Away with you, demon!" Some random person screamed after them.

"I don't remember people were this unfriendly to you."

"Me either." Ezio shrugged, not seemed to be too bothered, before holding up a hand and blocking the way. "Stay right here. I've got to take care of Robert de Sablé." The Florentine Eagle said as Desmond noticed the familiar large group of people gathered before him in the cemetery.

"Tell me what I should do so I can get this over with faster."

The Assassin descendent nodded, giving his Italian ancestor a few simple pointers. It was a straightforward failed assassination, but to allow a proper synch, Desmond had to keep the result to himself.  
But the Master Assassin only dry laughed at the tips. "Suuure, but I mean seriously." Ezio tapped his foot impatiently as he scanned the crowd.

"Altaïr really did what I just described, trust me."

Ezio rolled his eyes. "Very funny. I thought Robert is supposed to be a guy."

"Yup."

"That," He gestured at the Templar up front. "Is most definitely _not_ a guy."

"Yup."

The Florentine Eagle sighed in exasperation. "And you're telling me that Altaïr can not tell him from her?"

"Yup."

"You're trying to make me desynch, aren't you."

"No, I'm not."

Ezio opened his mouth to retort, stopped himself and rubbed his temple. "But I don't get iiiit!" He wailed.

"Just get in there, Ezio." Desmond unceremoniously pushed the texture all jumbled up and very confused Assassin into the graveyard.

.

**Warning Desynchronization Imminent...**

.

.

**[****Memory Corridor- Safe Mode] (Ezio. Desmond. Clay.)**

Ezio first threw Desmond, who was back as his black-hoodie-self, a betrayed look and accused: You lied to me, you said I won't desynch! Before changing to a charming smile as he turned to the Templar Natalie. And sorry about that blade into your neck, fair lady. I wasn't aware someone was using my target as an avatar.

Barbaric, typical Assassins. Natalie sniffed.

Hey, it wasn't my fault. Desmond pouted. I thought you would spare her life after the talk, like any logical person would do, not put a KNIFE through Altaïr's future _wife_!

How am I supposed to know that?

Sorry for expecting you to be more sensible than the least sensible guy I know.

I detect sarcasm.

- What is wrong with you people? - Clay's voice sounded in the void. - I thought I just send you guys into a sequence? -

It crashed! Ezio supplied brightly. It was Desmond's fault!

Clay sighed deeply. - There's nowhere else available for hiding other than the Animus Island, if we ignore the Abstergo system that is. -

Send me back to the Abstergo system. Natalie demanded hotly.

She was ignored.

- Tell you what. I'll build a cluster that lead you back to the Island. -

Are you sure? Desmond asked, wary. If Altaïr ever find a way there, we are literally doomed.

- You're virus meat either way. - And true to the promise, an unstable digital cluster starting to come together just off to the side. - Hurry up, Desmond. I'm only keeping it open for 30 seconds. -

The modern Assassin immediately ran towards the gateway and safety.

Hey, wai– The Templar woman wanted to follow, but a strong hand grabbed her wrist. She turned and glared at the computerized Master Assassin. Let go of me.

Sorry, my lady. But killing Templars is kind of in my job description. Ezio stood his ground.

You are just a bunch of compiled data. Natalie narrowed her eyes. Like it or not:_ you are not here_. You cannot touch me; you are not even allowed to defy me.

.

**Memory File_ Ezio Auditore da Firenze**

Restart.

.

Ezio's skin started to peel off due to the Templar's computerized order. He was going to disintegrate because a digital file could not go against a direct input command, no matter how hard he struggled.  
Natalie knew it, _Ezio knew it_. It could not be helped.

So the Master Assassin shattered like glass.

Half-turning away, the woman huffed. The cluster was getting smaller, and she would be damned if she was left behin–

The hand still held her tight.

It was Ezio, in his Florentine noble attire.

I'm still here.

The younger looking man gently smiled, though by all means it _should_ _not_ be possible. And Natalie could only stare in shock, mouth open and dumbfounded, as he gazed over the shoulders of the petit woman and eyes meeting Desmond's.  
Ezio winked.

I am not dead!

He called after the man who was quickly disappearing into the cluster.

Remember ME! Ezio! Ezio Auditore!

The young Eagle held his hands high, proclaiming into the dark emptiness.

And before the gateway completely sealed shut Desmond saw the scared look on the Templar woman's face, the mischief in the Eagle Assassin's smile, and a pure white shadow constructing behind the two.

Desmond turned, closing his eyes, and for a very brief moment wondered whether Ezio's words were an echo from a memory file... or actually genuine.

But it was not possible.

Right?

.

_Note_

It is common knowledge that when it comes to the treatment of the fairer sex, Altaïr and Ezio express near opposite attitudes.  
Altaïr, the aloof killer, treats people as insignificant backdrop regardless of gender.  
And Ezio, the ladies' man, turns up his charms and gentlemanly manners whenever in the company of women.

What most tends to overlook though is the curious case of their stance on this subject basically switching over when confronted with the _other_ female archetype: the lady warriors.  
Altaïr, due to his background and upbringing, has a tendency to see women as weaker, less capable, and always needing protection. He did become more open-minded later on, but only "relatively" when compared to most men during his time.  
Ezio, on the other hand, subverts his originally established playboy persona on this and he _will_ treat both men and women equally if they can fight.

The evidences:  
1) There are no female Assassins within the Levantine Brotherhood under Altaïr's guidance while there are more than a few within the Italian branch (and later also the Turkish branch) during the leadership of Ezio's.

2) Had Maria Thorpe been a man, Altaïr would not have spared her life; similarly– or not so similarly– Lia de Russo, Mirela Djuric, and Lysistrata are all notable Templar women slain by Ezio's hands. (It should be noted that during their respective times, Maria held a much higher position within the Templar ranks, yet she was spared.)

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**[****Memory Corridor- Safe Mode] (Ezio. Altaïr.)**

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**Memory File_** **Templar Agent #98**

Deleting...

Deleted.

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- Altaïr. - A simple greeting was offered, and Ezio kept the polite and respectful smile on his face. The virus stood before him, beautiful and deadly, with the extended hidden blade held high and whole posture tense.

But the Florentine was not like the rest of the files, same as the Masyaf Eagle, but at the same time very different. And digital files started to build around him, changing him into the heavy blue-grey robes and modified his appearance into the early fifties. As he held up a calloused hand, glowing golden seals fabricated from nothingness before falling between his fingers.

Because a digital file could not go against a direct input command.

Even the virus had to follow the same programming.

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**Memory File_ Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad**

Program Aggression: On.

Virus Destruction Capacity: 85%- High.

Resetting...

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**Memory File_ Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad**

Program Aggression: Off.

Virus Destruction Capacity: 5%- Minimum.

File Reset.

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Altaïr's frame shifted, before painfully blinking his golden eyes. Oh Allah, my head is killing me. The younger Master Assassin grumbled unhappily, shaking his head as he reluctantly withdrew his hidden blade. Stop messing with my settings, Ezio.

- I'll turn your **Aggression** back on once you are far _far_ away from me. - The Italian Assassin Mentor chuckled, fiddling with the Masyaf keys that were quite literally the digital manifestations of the younger man. - If I let you kill me, both of us would be deleted. -

Altaïr crouched low, not amused. You are truly the demon incarnate, brother. He said knowingly, then leaped, spreading his arms gracefully as if they were wings, and fell into the endless.

And Ezio smirked, turning around, because things were very easy in hindsight: No one would suspect the affable demon to be the one who controlled the truculent angel of death.

Let the humans and their anti-virus programs chase after the phantom angel.

But it was really the demon that kept both of them alive.

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_Note__- Extra_

Master Assassins and Assassin Mentors are not collaborative ranks, even if they often overlap. Interestingly, although the latter held a higher commanding position, the number of people that made Master Assassins throughout history is actually fewer in comparison.  
Fun Fact 1: There are currently only _ten_ confirmed Master Assassins in history!

Fun Fact 2: Despite being born from a renowned Assassin line, Ezio has never been an Assassin novice/apprentice. He is already a fully fledged Assassin when he is first inducted into the Brotherhood, at the age of 28.

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_Ezio was sometimes called a demon, as opposed to Altaïr, who was sometimes called an angel.  
Many dialogues from this chapter are modified from actual words that had been thrown at Ezio in the games._


End file.
